Já...
Þetta gæti verið síðasta post mitt úr þessari sögu í þónokkurn tíma. Ég er ekki sáttur við það sem á eftir fer og reyndar ekkert svo sáttur með þennan hluta heldur. En þið fáið allavega að njóta þessa og svo sjáum við til hvort ég verði dúlegur að skrifa hér eftir.

Warlords continued

– “Oh isn’t this great... Blast that mare.” he mumbled. Graithar was standing by a path on a hillside, scratching the back of his head with one hand and leaning on a cliff with the other. As far as could be seen were steep grass-covered hills dotted with all sorts of trees. Cliffs jutted out here and there and the one he was leaning on was covered with red moss. Graithar didn’t pay heed to any of that.
He was looking at a fence that he suspected one of his horses to have torn down recently. “There isn’t a fence in the continent that could hold her.” he continued. “Now I’ve got to find her and fix this... the third time this month.” He started to loosen the broken wood from the fence while mumbling something about the uselessness of horses but was interrupted. A small pebble landed on his head.
– “You! Turn around. Now!” The voice was deep and harsh. Inhuman. Upon hearing it, a chilling fear seeped down Graithar's spine. He slowly turned around and saw three creatures perched on the top of the cliff, some four or five meters above him. They were slim, yet very muscular, particularly the one in the middle. Their skin color was a dark shade of red and from their heads grew thick black hair, jutting straight back. They were wearing armor pads, black leather and large shiny steel plates on the shoulders and chest. Two of the creatures were haunched as if prepared to jump, their faces serious, but between them stood the third, a larger one with gleaming eyes, flipping a pebble between his hands.
It seemed to be the leader. “I am Tharok. Do you know who killed Giritekhos?” it asked with a menacing voice.
Graithar just stared in terror at these unnatural beings. The one who spoke flicked the pebble in the human’s face and raised it’s voice.
– “I said, do you know who killed Giritekhos, who you might have called Grit. We know he is dead and we will revenge his death. Do you know who killed him?”
Finally Graithar was able to speak, although barely. “I... I’m just a farmer. I haven’t h-harmed a-anyone.” The creature’s eyes flared.
– “My paitience is slipping. Do you know who killed Grit?!” The creature on the leader’s right stood up and drew it’s sword, hissing.
– “No! I don’t know. I don’t know!” Graithar, who had sunk to his knees, was weeping, fighting his rising fear.
– “Then you are of no use.” Tharok said. “Kill him.” The standing one grinned wickedly and jumped off the cliff, sword ready to cleave the poor human. A moment before it would have cut through the man it’s fall was broken. A large arrow landed in it’s ribcage with a bone-crushing thud. The creature fell breathless to the ground where a crossbow bolt thudded in it’s chest. The creature, now lifeless, went limp.
Graithar showed no emotion, was frozen in terror. Every eye turned towards the direction from where the missiles came. Tharok’s eyes widened. Now this is an odd bunch, he thought. Walking up the path were two elves, one holding a pair of shan-katars, the other one skillfully handling a small crossbow. Beside him walked a human female, also holding a crossbow, but beside her was a creature rarely seen in these parts, a crogan. And he was holding a large composite bow, an arrow knocked and ready to fly. Tharok knew crogans were supposedly excellent marksmen and this one had proven it by killing Nugim in mid-air. And now it was aiming at Tharok.
– “What has he done to you?” the human asked, indicating the terrified farmer.
Oh great, Tharok thought, your typical disgustingly righteous hero do-gooders. This day was turning out to be total crap.
– “What is it to you?” he responded with a voice made of acid and steel. “This is none of your business.” He slowly moved his hand to the shaft of the axe he had in a harness on his back. He raised the other towards the group. "Let this be."
– “We are making it our business.” the human answered.
– “I strongly recommend that you come no closer, human.” he said, not disguising his loathing on the word. “And the same goes for your friends."
This was interrupted by a sound. From behind the two creatures came a deep bellow. A warcry and an animal roar in one sound. It was exactly the sound that could make one think, 'Oh gosh, someone is about to lose a limb.' In Thorak's case it was the nose. He turned towards this noise and got his face smashed in by the blunt end of an Orcish axe, knocking him off his feet. The axe was held in a strong green hand. That hand connected to an equally green body jumping onto the cliff. As the orc landed he reversed his grip on the weapon and tore through the chest of the other creature who, judging from it's facial expression, had not expected to be cleaved in half toady. A huge wolf padded slowly onto the cliff and stood on the chest of Thorak. It growled when he tried to reach his axe. Thorak stopped. The orc turned away from the fallen body, crimson drops already drying on his taut skin. Blood from both the wound and the axe that had cut it made a small dark stream running down the face of the cliff. A raging fire burned in the narrowed eyes. Pure hatred. The wolf stepped aside, the orc taking it's place. He raised his axe.
– “Stop!"
The orc didn't respond in any way but he didn't strike. The axe was poised above the unmoving creature, ready to fall at any moment. His head cocked slightly and his eyes darted to the side like he could see the four through his shoulder. When he spoke it was in a deep voice, slowly and deliberately.
– “My wolf tells me you are well armed. What weapons you have aimed at me now should be directed at this pathetic wretch." He made no attempt to hide the hatred.
– “Er... pardon me if my timing is off," Dade said "but some background on this, er... situation would be very well accepted."
There was a pause.
...

tack tack

--Drekafluga, an apprentice of The Cardboard Tube Samurai--